


This is the Most Fun I've Ever Had

by zuurkoolgxre



Category: Dan & phil - Fandom, Dan Howell - Fandom, Dan Howell and Phil Lester - Fandom, Phan, Phil Lester - Fandom, dan and phil
Genre: Dissociation, Eating Disorder, Hopefully some fluff, M/M, Self Harm, Self Image, definitely some fluff but we gotta get through the bad stuff first.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 22:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8303009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuurkoolgxre/pseuds/zuurkoolgxre
Summary: Dan Howell awakens in a hospital bed, the images of confetti and his best friend still fresh in his mind. Moments before he was on stage staring into the eyes of his life partner, his eyes sparkling. Now they are void of all emotion as his heart rate monitor flatlines.Dan goes through those six years over again, but everything is different.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! sorry for the garbage format. and the fact that this is trash. i am trash. trash can not make anything better than trash. I will not have a schedule and i often lose inspiration for months (occasionally years) at a time, so please do not expect anything more than maybe an update a month if you're lucky and i really push myself. enjoy :))))

The confetti shimmered as it rained down. His face was the only thing in my head. Hair stuck to his forehead, his smile bigger than ever. His eyes were so bright as they looked over at me.

“We did it,” his eyes gleamed.

“This is the most fun i’ve ever had.” I mouthed back.

 

Suddenly there is yelling. Beeping. My arms burn. My throat is dry and I feel like I am about to vomit.

“Daniel? Get someone in here, he’s awake!” a voice shrilled. Mum. More commotion. Bright light. Yelling. Hands all over me. My arms. My fucking arms. It feels like they’re pulling my skin on a string like… like stitches. Stitches. I have stitches in my arms. 

My eyes are wide. I see. The stark white ceiling glared back at me. My family was at the foot of the bed. Not my bed. A big white plastic bed. A blanket made out of a scratchy material, loosely woven, covers my body. My mother is sobbing and a nurse is holding her back.

“My boy,” she cries.

“My beautiful baby boy.” I cough. It hurts. There is something in my throat. Thick, thick plastic. They grabbed my head and pulled it out. I gasp. They hand me water. I drink. Everything is robotic and fluid. A well oiled machine. They’ve done this many times, all I have to do is follow their lead. It was a blur. A bright blur. Too much. I went back to sleep.

 

There is a pressure by my feet. The bed dipping, that is what stirred me into consciousness. I breathe through my mouth, a gasp of air in lungs swimming with oil. Although I was asleep after the last incident, I was not. I could hear. I could feel, but I was not in my body. Now there was someone sitting at the foot of my bed. 

They whisper.

“Daniel can you hear me? Do something at all if you can.” I open my eyes and look at him. I open my mouth to speak.

“No, don’t. I’m your nurse. I’ve been on your case for two weeks. You’ve been here a while.” I look at him. No, I was with Ph… F… what was his name? Les… Ph… I grunt in frustration. 

“No.” My voice was low and it came out as a croak. It hurt, it felt like knives. I move so i'm now sitting, my legs naturally crossing under me. I glare at him. He’s lying.

“I told you, you mustn’t talk.” he looks at me with sympathetic eyes, and picks up my chart at the end of the bed.

“Your name is Daniel James Howell. You are sixteen and you live with your close family. What is the last thing you remember, Dan?”

“His eyes.” I look at this man’s. Blue, but there is no smile behind them. They are not _his_. But those eyes I am looking at now look back at me as if I was insane. 

“Who’s eyes, Daniel?” He clicked his pen and wrote something down. No, no no no. I cannot have him writing anything down, that’s never a good sign. I’m in a hospital, that’s not a good sign either. There was an incident. 

“A friend. Dark eyes. Before the incident.” Maybe that was enough. I settle back down, laying down in my bed and shutting my eyes. The man’s name, what was his name?

“Do you know what the incident was, Daniel?” I do not reply but focus on _his_ gleaming smile, the words on his lips, “We did it.”

“Daniel you tried to commit suicide two weeks ago.”  _ his _ smile disintegrates. All I see behind my eyelids is black. No, this man is a liar. Two weeks ago I was with the man, we were holding a koala. He thought he was going to get some sort of disease. I had spent… I had spent so long with this man, how was I gone for two weeks? I was 25, not 16. He was… He was almost thirty. I didn’t say anything. He just wanted me to feed into his lies. 

“Daniel do you see these on your wrist? Do you even know why we had that pump inside of you? Do you understand what I am saying?” I open my eyes and glare at him. He thinks I'm stupid. I will not feed into his bullshit, I graduated university with… oh. 

That’s right. I'm 16. I didn’t do anything. I am nothing again. 

I look down at my arms and instantly regret it. There are stitches all the way up on both ends. I look like a scarecrow. Nausea floods over me as I lay my head back on the pillow. It was real. He’s not lying. It was just a dream. The last six years were Just a dream...

 

Time passes. Many people come and go to check my pulse and change my stitches and bring me drugs. I sleep a lot for the next week. My family rarely visited. I was left mostly alone with just dreams of him. Cooking. Jumpers. Laughing. Games. Late night rants and some crying and holding and the warmth of fingers on my skin and how much I loved him. 

Six years it took me to discover I loved him. And it was all gone in a second. After the week alone I had finally remembered his name. Phil Lester. I had to repeat in my head over and over to make sure that i did not forget it when I got home.

 

“We have to, ma’am. It’s protocol. Of course, you are the parent so it is your choice, but we strongly recommend sending him to a mental hospital for a few days to make sure he’s alright.” My mother was sobbing while the words fell from the nurse’s mouth. I was not supposed to be hearing this. My father spoke.

“Take him. Please, make him better.” You could hear the sadness in his voice, but it was coated in a shell of harshness, as if he didn’t want the nurse to know that he cared about me. That was it then, I'm off to the hospital then, I've lost count of the times I've been.


End file.
